


Salvation

by LovelyLessie



Series: To Live, Not to Exist [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyLessie/pseuds/LovelyLessie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo knew when she signed on for this mission that it was going to be the most dangerous thing she ever did. And she knows it would take a miracle to get out of here alive. And she also knows that, during the Apocalypse, there aren't enough miracles to go around. </p><p>But maybe she can still hope for one or two.</p><p>(Set during Abandon All Hope)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvation

You’re going to die.

You know this, and you think you should be terrified but mostly you’re relieved because this pain is unbearable. You can’t see straight, you can’t even think straight, and in the back of your head is that thought, again and again, the one thing that’s clear to you as you fade in and out of consciousness. You’re going to die. There’s no way for you to survive this.

It could be worse, you think. It could be a lot worse. Premature death is kind of inevitable for hunters, after all, and you could be dying alone and cold in some God-forsaken alley or sewer. Not all hunters die surrounded by people they love and people who love them.

Later, when you’ve been patched up as well as possible and your system has had time to replenish the blood you’ve lost, when your head clears, when you’re fully conscious again, you realize just how scared you are. You can’t feel anything below your waist; your legs are dead weight and you think the pain shooting up your back from somewhere near your hips is probably your broken spine. Your stomach feels like fire where it’s torn open, so painful that when you shift your shoulders against the hard metal shelves at your back you think for a second you’re going to black out again.

And as much as you try to ignore it, part of your mind keeps reminding you that you’re done for. It might be hours or it might be days, but you’re not long for this world.

“I don’t want to die,” you whisper to Mom, reaching out to grab her hand. You haven’t done that since you were a kid—you’re a big girl now and you don’t need comfort—but for once, for maybe one of the last times, you need to feel her fingers curled around yours.

She bites her lip and won’t meet your eyes and you think you know what’s going through her head—the decision of whether to tell you everything is going to be okay, like you’re little again and scared of what’s going to happen after losing your dad, or to be honest with you because both of you know you’re not going to live.

“I know,” she says finally, and she’s trying so hard not to cry but she’s crying anyways.

Dean tries to pretend like it’s going to be fine and for his sake you pretend with him. You nod and try to smile when he tells you he’s going to get you out of here. You’re both lying through your teeth and you both know it but faking it feels better, sometimes.

He prays for you, or at least sort of prays. His version of praying mostly involves muttering curses at the ceiling and begging Castiel to get his ass down and help you. Sam prays too, you think—silently, with his head bowed and his eyes closed. No one answers, though, and you don’t think the angels are listening.

At least, that’s what you think until a woman appears in the middle of the aisle.

“Anna,” Dean says, his voice tense.

“You called for help,” she says, and then, “Where’s my brother?”

“We don’t know,” Dean tells her, and then jerks his head towards you. “Look, Anna, it’s Jo, she—she needs your help.”

The woman named Anna turns and kneels in front of you, reaching out one hand to touch your shoulder. A moment passes in silence as you stare at her, and then her fingers tighten. “Hell hounds?” she asks grimly.

“Yeah,” you manage.

Something you can’t read crosses her face, but she doesn’t say anything, just pulls up your shirt and pushes down the bandages around your abdomen to reveal the gashes in your skin. Her fingers trace the wounds, slowly, and you watch as your skin knits back together under her touch. Warmth spreads through your torso as she heals torn muscles and flesh, pressing your damaged organs back into place and mending the tissue.

When she raises her eyes from your midriff you catch her gaze. You can’t seem to find your voice but your lips for the words  _thank you_  and she gives you the faintest hint of a smile.

“Where else?” she asks.

You swallow and cough and mumble, “Back.”

She nods and reaches around you to trace your spine with her fingers, furrowing her brow in concentration. Her fingertips find the place where the bones are broken and press in; you suck in a breath as pain shoots up your back but then it fades as she pieces together your shattered vertebrae. You’re suddenly aware of an ache in your tailbone and a tingle in your legs and you realize it’s because she’s fixed your spinal cord.

“We have to get you out of here,” she tells you as you get unsteadily to your feet. “Right away. And then—” She turns to Dean, standing behind her, and looks first at him, then at Sam. “I’ll help you get away from the hellhounds.”

“I want to stay,” you tell her, and step away from the shelves to stand on your own. “Look, I’m fine! I can fight, I can help, let me stay—”

Anna shakes her head. “You can’t,” she tells you. “I’m not strong enough to bring you back to full health. You need to stay out of this fight.”

You’re about to argue, but Mom puts her hand on your shoulder. “Come on, baby,” she says. “Let’s go.”

“I want to help,” you say, but you know she’s right.

Anna puts a hand on your other shoulder. “I’ll take you somewhere you can be safe,” she promises.

“I’m coming too,” Mom says sharply.

“No,” you protest, trying to push her hand away. “You can help Sam and Dean, you can still fight, they could use your help—”

“Joanna Beth Harvelle,” she tells you, fixing you with a stern look. “I ain’t making you sit this fight out on your own. I’m coming with you.”

“Get out of here,” Dean says, half joking, but you can see the relief in his eyes before Anna’s hand on your arm tightens and the hardware store dissolves around you.

When you open your eyes, you’re in a motel room with Mom beside you, and the angel named Anna is nowhere to be seen.

It’s three days later that she appears in the kitchen when you’re making a cup of coffee for yourself.

“Joanna,” she says from behind you, and you jump, whirling to stare at her.

“Holy shit,” you reply, catching your breath again, and laugh. “You know, Jo is fine.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, nodding. “How are you feeling?”

You consider this for a minute. “Well, you know, I’m alive,” you joke, rolling your eyes as you turn back to your coffee. With a glance over your shoulder, you add, “Thanks. For saving me, I mean.”

“Of course,” she says solemnly. “You are fighting the apocalypse with the Winchesters. I could do nothing less.”

“So it was your duty to put me back together?” you ask, grinning.

“You could say that,” she agrees, and gives you a smile in return.

The coffee maker beeps and you turn your back on her to pour yourself a cup. “You want any coffee?” you ask, but there’s no answer.

You turn around, and you can’t help a sense of disappointment when you realize you’re alone.


End file.
